


St. Louis

by inkiestdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Grunting, Jealous Dean, Masturbation, Moaning, Penetration, Sam is so patient and good, Sex Club, Smut, St. Louis, The Grand, of the vaginal variety, screamer, sex buddy, shitty motel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10067954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn
Summary: After spending too many nights seeing the Winchesters off with conquests or worse- having to hear it- a hunt takes you to St. Louis where you happen to have a very accomplished fuck buddy.





	

She’s a screamer. 

There’s no buffer this time. Not long after you started hunting with the Winchesters, you learned to get a buffer room so that you weren’t serenaded by their trysts; moaning, thudding headboards, squeaking bed springs, and screamers didn’t make for a good night’s rest. When vacancy was low, you bunked with the brothers and they were always, unfortunately, perfect gentlemen. Sure, Dean teased a little half-heartedly and Sam would lounge around with some skin showing but they never made any advances. It drove you crazy. Even when you were curled up in the Impala, they let you know just how comfortable they were with you by letting it all out. They might blush a little or giggle after a particularly ripe fart or noxious burp but it was clear that they didn’t see you as anything but another hunter, maybe even a friend. 

The thrill of a room to yourself was quickly extinguished when Sam keyed open the lock to the room next door and Dean hightailed it to a bar after you turned down the offer to tag along. Trailing along after them to bars and nightclubs was almost as bad as listening to them fuck. Almost, not quite.

And now that you are firmly entrenched in some deep layer of hell- let’s call it the seventh- you curse yourself for not going along at least to get drunk enough to pass out and sleep through it all. A black out would be blessedly sweet at this point in time.

She had to be a screamer.

“YES!YES!YES!YES!YES!”

You hold your breath for a moment, listening, morbid curiosity and a very strong masochistic leaning making you wonder which brother is currently balls deep in said screamer. 

At the sound of a muffled, “Uh,” you sit up, trying to focus.

“Yeah baby,” Dean moans.

The realization is at once mortifying and arousing. Imagining him naked, hard with lust, pumping his hips between thighs that are not your own makes you swallow hard and lie back down. You can feel yourself swell with the rush of blood, pussy thickening and softening with moisture. Flexing your fingers and pushing out any other thoughts, you relax and slide a hand down your side, over your belly, and between your legs. 

You’re slick and flushed, spreading your knees wide and rocking your hips slowly, cupping a breast with your other hand to tease your nipple. You slide your middle finger over your clit and down, dipping it inside your vagina, tilting your hips up to reach your thick, swollen g-spot. You press down on it, rubbing your finger back and forth over the rough mound while pressing down on your clit with the knuckle of your thumb. Arching your back, you slide your finger out and rub it, slick, over your clit continuing the rhythm and pattern until the sensation builds and you forget that you are in the dark, alone. In the moment, you’re with Dean, your hands are his and his name is a muffled cry as you bring yourself pleasure, and momentary relief.

***

Sitting across from Sam, you don’t look up as Dean makes his way over to the booth. A feeling of shame washes over you when he slides in next to you, leaning into you as he shrugs out of his jacket. His hair is still wet from the shower, he smells of soap. His thigh brushes against your leg, making you pull away but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey,” he grins, eyes bright. 

Sam glances up from the menu with a quick, “Hey.” He looks back down but his mouth is pinched, shoulders hunched.

Dean looks from you to his brother, “What’s up?”

Sam folds the menu and sets it down, sliding it away and leaning back when a waitress comes over with a pot of coffee. Dean gives the middle aged woman a smile and a wink as she fills his cup. When she looks at you, she raises her eyebrows and gives Dean a sideways glance, making your face heat. You give your head a quick shake and say, “Tea for me, please” before looking down at your hands folded in your lap.

“Y'all ready to order?” The waitress- her name tag reads Olivia- asks, pulling a pad of paper and a pencil out of a pale pink and white gingham apron. 

“I’ll have the egg white omelet,” Sam says at the same time as Dean asks for the Hungry Trucker special with a side of extra bacon.

“Mmm mmm mmm,” Dean growls, rubbing his hands together. You think of his moans and grunts the night before and squeeze your eyes shut and knees together, trying to think of anything else.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?” Olivia asks. “You feeling alright?”

When you open your eyes, you see Sam, Dean, and Olivia staring at you. You look up at the waitress and force a smile, “Yes, uh, fine thanks. I’ll have the Sunshine special please, eggs over easy, brown toast, no beans. Thank you.” You fumble with your menu and hold it out to her, seeing it tremble in your shaky grip.

Sam frowns at you as Olivia collects the other menus and walks away. He places his elbows on the table and leans forward, “What’s going on?”

You focus on the smells- frying bacon and sausages, eggs, toast, and coffee- and the sounds of the other patrons, low murmurs of conversation, the rustle of a newspaper, soft music from a radio, pulling yourself out of the mess of half formed thoughts and combustible emotions. 

“I’m good,” you manage to say after a breath, “long hunt. I’m glad it’s over.”

“Well,” a look passes between the brothers, “that’s the thing,” Sam says, shifting his weight in his seat and hunching over the table. With a quick look over Dean’s shoulder, he continues, “this wasn’t an isolated incident. I got an alert this morning about a similar case out in St. Louis.” You become instantly more alert at the mention of the city.

Dean raises his eyebrows at his brother, fixing him with a look over the rim of his coffee cup, “Another zombie attack?”

“Several,” Sam says. “Get this,” he holds up three fingers, “three people were attacked in the last two days…” He stops abruptly, leaning back to let Olivia place a small metal tea pot and a bowl of sugar packets, milk, and creamers in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you say, opening the lid of the pot and jabbing at the tea bag with your spoon. Once the waitress is out of ear shot, Sam leans in again, animated and speaking quickly, “I think this is the work of a necromancer.”

Pressing the tea bag against the side of the pot to squeeze out as much flavour as you can, you don’t realize that the brothers are watching you until you look up.

“What?”

Dean shifts in the booth, turning his body to face you, “You usually react with a bit more…reaction.” He’s leaning over his elbows, head bobbing between his shoulders, gesticulating with his hands.

“What?” You look from Dean to Sam but the younger Winchester is cocking an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah,” Sam frowns, “there’s usually more swearing.”

You shrug, “I guess, maybe,” you scramble for an explanation, anything other than ‘I have a ridiculously gifted fuck friend in St.Louis’.

“Maybe I’ve resigned myself to the fact that monsters are gonna keep monstering and we’re just going to have to keep gankin’ 'em,” you turn your attention to the tea, finally happy with the colour, and pour it into your small cup.

The food arrives before Sam and Dean can ask any further questions.

** 

You arrive in St. Louis in the early afternoon. You and Sam do some research and make some calls while Dean drives. After a short argument with Dean about money, you reluctantly make reservations at the Grand Motel, shuddering when Dean pulls the Impala through the entrance and past the security gate. The place is surrounded by high brick walls, making it feel like a prison yard.

It wasn’t difficult getting reservations but when Sam walks out of the office with keys to adjoining rooms, you have to bury your face in your bag - with the pretense of searching for something of much importance - to hide your annoyance. While the Winchesters make themselves at home, you cringe at the dated furnishings, the low lighting hiding all sorts of evils, and the smell of old carpet, stale air, and damp.

Placing your bag gingerly on a rickety chair, you thumb a message before changing in to your power suit. If all goes well, you just have to play along for a few hours. When your phone bings and vibrates in alert, you know the wait will be worth it.

**

The leads you and the boys look into amount to nothing and after exhausting what little you have, the consensus is to call it quits for the night. Dean stops to take a picture of a street sign for 'Cass avenue’, silently laughing to himself as he sends the photo to Castiel.

Sam is leaning against the car, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted back. He’s taken off his jacket and ditched the tie. He doesn’t like loose ends, preferring hunts that end in blood and shallow graves to sticky hot offices with broken air conditioners, teary witnesses and hostile local law enforcement. 

“There was a lounge back that way,” Dean says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, “I say we get a quick beer, some grub, and check out the night life.”

Involuntarily, your shoulders sag and your head slumps forward. Dean is lightning quick, picking up on your lack of enthusiasm.

“I know what it looks like,” he argues, “but the beer is cold, cheap, and relatively good. Where do you want to go? Some swanky nightclub with that awful music…” He rolls his eyes.

“No Dean, I don’t want go to some swanky night club. I want to go somewhere that doesn’t require a waiver protecting the establishment against the inevitability that you’ll get crabs from the toilets, Hep-C from the drinks, and possibly stabbed if all goes well.” Frustration builds in you, the pressure clearly affecting your brain because you feel yourself tipping over from annoyed and launching in to full blown angry. “And yes, I would like to stay in a fucking place that launders the sheets regularly. I actually like not stepping in other people’s bodily fluids when I go to the bathroom.”

Sam is looking at you, mouth open and wide eyed. It’s then that you realize your voice grew steadily louder until you were almost yelling. You never yell.

“You never yell,” Sam says.

Small surge of anger spent, you feel the muscles in your back, shoulders, neck and jaw release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dean shift from foot to foot, head down, staring down at the phone in his hands. You can’t look at him, feeling shamed by your display and the admission.

“You could…” Dean starts to say, his voice wavering with hesitation.

You dismiss him with a small shake of your head, “Nah, look, it’s me. It’s just me.”

**

There is something comforting about the city. All of the noise and people and movement makes you feel safe, unseen. Hurrying up the street, you start to relax. The tight knot in the pit of your stomach is testament to the fact that you’re running from something, rather than towards, but you’ve settled into a nice state of idealistic denial and pick up the pace.

The first time you saw Lee, you had an embarrassing fit of the gigs. The fact that the man looked like Dean wasn’t a coincidence. He was a little taller, leaner, with sharper features, gauged ears and smooth skin covered in tattoos that are decorative rather than functional but if you couldn’t have Dean, he would do just fine.

And it was so much better than expected. Signing up for the 'club’ was the most indulgent, booze soaked, morally deprived decision you would ever make. They took their reputation very seriously and took excellent care of all their members. This meant regular blood tests and medical exams and a Code of Conduct that made the military look like an unorganized bunch of heathens. 

Familiar faces at the door and behind the bar greet you with smiles and called out greetings. They know you only by a code name to protect the privacy of their clients. Hearing the name 'Kali’ almost makes you weak in the knees, knowing what comes with it.

“Welcome back,” a woman named Raquelle says, holding open a door that leads to the rooms upstairs, “Lee is waiting for you in room 23. As requested.” The last word comes out in a purr. Raquelle has joined you and Lee on several occasions. She’s tall with creamy smooth skin and a tongue that could be a religion for the many times it made you fall to your knees in reverence.

She reaches out and brushes a hand down your back as you pass. Leaning close she whispers, “I’m just a call away.”

Room 23 is modern and sleek. It’s not so much a bedroom, in the traditional sense, as a very well equipped space for all things carnal. The room smells slightly of disinfectant, leather, and cinnamon. The cinnamon is Lee. He turns as the door shuts with a hiss and a click, secured in place and only able to open with a programmed key card, one of which you hold in your hand. 

“Hey,” he greets, his smile a slow, sensual movement, the left side of his mouth sliding up, showing just a flash of teeth. He’s dressed simply, in a cotton tee and jeans. His black t-shirt is tight, accentuating his wide shoulders and slim waist. You know, in great detail, every square inch of skin beneath.

The bag at his feet is also familiar and you know that he has a change of clothes, toiletries, and a collection of toys, oils, lubricant, and tools that look like they were made for torture but are quite the opposite.

Ever since Sam mentioned St. Louis, this was all you could think of; being in this room with Lee. What you didn’t expect was the feeling that comes over you. It reveals itself slowly, understanding dampening your arousal. As amazing as Lee is, as hot as the sex is- indescribable really- it’s not what you want right now. You don’t want sterile surfaces and fantasy grade choreography; you want fast, hot, rough. You want Dean. 

You want what you can’t have and right now what you do have is Lee.

“You wanna go somewhere?” You say, pressing your lips together hoping to hide the uncertainty you feel.

Lee tilts his head to the side, studying you.

“Yeah,” he says, “sure. You have somewhere in mind?”

**

The rules are clearly defined and you wonder, not for the first time since setting out for the motel, if Lee isn’t about to point out how many you’re currently breaking. 

Any and all encounters are to take place within the club or select secondary locations. Members meeting outside of the club wave any and all rights to the protections offered therein. If members request a secondary location that is not preapproved, they must make a special request, going through the proper channels which include filling out forms and sending the documents to the administrator in charge of personnel. 

You have no doubt that the Grand is not on the list of approved secondary locations. Raquelle seemed a little perplexed by your sudden departure but Lee, thankfully, makes the excuse of going out to eat first and something about foreplay that has Raquelle clucking her tongue.

As the cab pulls in through those awful brick walls and up to the motel, Lee casts a skeptical glance your way.

“Slumming it, are we?” he asks, amused. Grabbing his bag, he adds, “I brought some goodies but if you want me to put on a red wig and call myself Vivian we’re going to have to make another stop.”

You laugh and root around in your pocket for some cash for the driver. Lee reaches over the seat, paying the man, and starts sliding towards you, bumping his hip into your leg.

“Do you have a room or…” He starts to ask. You open the door and step out, dangling you key in front of him as he gets out of the car. 

“Oh,” he says breathlessly, “number 3, my favourite.”

The cab pulls away, leaving you both standing in the parking lot, taking in the Grand for all it’s worth.

“You sure do know how to treat a lady,” Lee quips, bumping his bag against his knee and slinging an arm over your shoulder 

“Only the best,” you say, leading the way towards your room.

As you slide the key into the lock, the door to your right swings open. It’s proper dark now but there’s no doubt that it’s Sam silhouetted in the doorway, his head almost grazing the top of the frame. Lee gives him a once over as he lowers his arm down your back, his fingers sliding into the waistband of your jeans.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Sam says, making Lee stiffen by your side. He ducks his head to look you in the face as you pull the key out and give the door a push.

You nod and say, “Hey Sam, um, this is Lee.” 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. Lee shifts beside you. Giving your ass a quick squeeze, he slides his hand out of your pants but doesn’t offer it to Sam. 

“Hey,” he says, glancing from Sam to you. 

After another moment of silence that stretches on, Lee gives you a quick pat on the ass. He nods to Sam, “G'night, man,” and walks into the room, looking around.

“Yeah, yeah, night,” Sam says, giving you a look. Sam tends to do this, press his lips together and squint at you like it’s Morse code. You have no idea what he’s trying to convey but if you had to give it a good think, it’s probably along the lines of, 'I don’t know who that is. Shout if you need me.’

You smile at him and nod, saying, “Good night Sam.” 

Entering the room, you close the door behind you, turning just long enough to flick on the light and secure the lock. Lee is sitting on the bed, cringing at the amount of give and squeak in the mattress.

“I don’t even know where to start; dude next door, super shitty room, I mean, Kal,” he says, using the code name, “is this elaborate role play?”

You force a laugh, feeling the clash between personas like it’s a physical thing. Lee knows some very intimate things about you, knows about sensitive spots on- and inside- your body and things you like, but he doesn’t even know your real name. A few friends from school know who you were in the past but on the rare occasions that you meet up with them now, you pepper in little details about your fictional life as a journalist to explain your absences and travels, explaining away bruises, cuts, and various other wounds as the result of an adventurous side. 

Of all the people in your life, Dean and Sam probably know you best but sitting across from you on a shitty bed in an awful hotel room is the evidence that they don’t know everything. You wonder why you didn’t factor them into the decision to bring Lee here. Did you really think you could avoid them?

The truth appears in that way it tends to, with a wash of guilt, off to the side but slowly sliding into the spotlight. It’s not that you want to divulge to them all the dirty, depraved things you’ve done sexually. It’s the fact that you want to share more. You want Dean to know you better.

**

Dean slides a few crumpled bills across the bar. The bartender is an older woman with a streak of pink in her bleached blond hair, large blue shirt sliding off one shoulder and exposing a padded bra strap. He gives her a quick smile, patting the sticky bar. It’s busy but not crowded, just the way he likes it, and there are even a few patrons that look promising but he’s not into it and it’s making him irritable. 

He’s not ready to face the why of it, deciding to sleep on it and maybe give it some consideration tomorrow, or another day. He has a decent buzz from a couple of stale beers that he washed away with some bottom-shelf whiskey. A young woman with a tangle of dark hair leans against the bar next to him, rocking her hips from side to side. She smiles up at him but as much as he wouldn’t mind getting his rocks off, it’s everything else that has him shrugging her off and walking out the door. He doesn’t feel like foreplay, of putting on a show and all the awkwardness afterwards. It’s something he’s perfected over the years, sure, but there are times like this that he just can’t be bothered. 

Sam wanted to stay behind, complaining of a creaky gut. He ordered a car for Dean and Dean, not interested in knowing how the whole car app thing worked, now looks around for cab. It doesn’t take long for a large sedan years past its prime to take him on and drive him to the motel. 

“The Grand, huh?” The driver squints at the building, “you know there’s some nice places…”

Dean shoves cash towards the man and gets out, grumbling about 'good enough’ and 'fancy schmancy’, adding in a 'it’s just a place to sleep’ for good measure. He teeters a little, taking a minute to remember what room he’s in. He pats down his pockets and pulls out his key, squinting at the number 4. Looking up again, he sees that the lights are out in his room; Sam must be asleep. He knows you went out so the light next door draws his attention. Frowning, he approaches, thinking of nothing much but doing a quick check. 

The thick curtain in the window is closed but light is coming through a gap wide enough that he can see the bed. And you. Naked. On the bed.

Dean blinks fast and steps away, breath caught in his chest. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to force the image out of his mind; your back arched, head thrown back and lips parted, wide, bare shoulders forcing your legs apart and the back of a man’s head- blond- between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, giving his head a shake and stumbling towards his room. He reaches out to steady himself, taking a moment to breathe and get his bearings.

Sam, obviously still awake, is on the bed, sitting with his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He has his computer in his lap, earbuds in. He looks up as Dean leans his weight against the door to close and lock it. He can hear faint music coming from Sam’s earbuds and the unmistakable sounds of a bed creaking and soft moans next door. He squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his forehead against the wall.

“Hey,” Sam says, pulling one earbud out, “you good?”

Dean waves him off and resumes massaging the spot between his eyes as he toes off his boots. There’s a soft thump on the other side of the wall and the bed starts a rhythmic creaking. Dean sees Sam’s mouth twist down. His brother stuffs the earbud back in place and the music gets a little louder.

Dean considers his options. While trying to remember if he brought his earphones, he ponders sleeping in the Impala, or the bathtub. His gaze wanders over to the washroom door on the other side of the room as your soft moans become mixed with grunts from the guy currently….NO! Dean decides not to try and decipher what exactly is going on. Bending down to search through his bag, he catches the sound of a deep moan. 

Before his brain has the chance to muddle signals in its current state of inebriation, his body goes on autopilot, sending a surge of blood rushing south.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters as his cock twitches in his pants, hardening enough to make his current crouching position uncomfortable. Washroom it is then. Picking up his bag and placing it strategically, he gives his right leg a shake to try and shift his cock enough that he can walk semi comfortably. 

“Hey, you sure you’re alright?” Sam asks.

Rolling his eyes up to give the ceiling a glare, Dean nods, “Yeah, sure.”

Sam doesn’t buy it, adding, “Something you want to talk about?”

Dean licks his lips, “Nnnnope.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Y/N…”

“SAM! Not now!”

The washroom is small and Dean can’t help but think of what you said about bodily fluids, his attention going to the floor as he flicks the light switch on. Bad idea. He should have left it off. The grout between the worn tiles is teeming with microscopic life, no doubt. He doesn’t want to try and guess the origins of the stain on the wall behind the toilet. The bathtub, toilet and sink are all a forgiving shade of beige but the counter top looks about as sanitary as the floor. 

“Yep, that’s it!” Dean does a quick about turn and stalks into the room, “she was right, I admit it. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Sam frowns at him, “"What?”

“Y/N, she was right about these shitty rooms.” Dean grabs up the few things he had taken out and stuffs them back into his bag. When Sam swings his legs over the bed, Dean notices that he had set a towel down over the comforter. 

Dean cringes, “Do I want to know?”

Sam looks down at the towel and then back up at his brother, “Probably not.”

“Get your shit,” Dean points at Sam’s duffel at the foot of his bed, “we’re getting out of here.”

“Dean, uh, Y/N is kind of busy….we should maybe…we can’t just leave without her.”

Dean pauses and before he can think of the many reasons he shouldn’t, he walks to the wall between your rooms and bangs his fist against it.

“Y/N,” he yells, “we’re leaving.”

Sam’s mouth drops open. Hands out like he’s just witnessed an accident, he stares at his brother in shock.

“What the fuck man?” he says in disbelief.

To be continued


End file.
